


Only a Dream

by lindoreda



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Thorin, Canon Compliant, Dubious Consent, Invisible Bilbo, M/M, Missing Scene, Oral Sex, To a point, sexually aggressive Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:30:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2809136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindoreda/pseuds/lindoreda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seeing how lost Thorin looks locked up in Mirkwood, Bilbo is tempted to use his invisibility to try something he's never dared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> I think we all need more smut after bofa. Agreed? Agreed. This is hardly my most polished piece, but I saw a post about blowjobs through the bars in the Mirkwood dungeons and thought why not?
> 
> That said! I labeled it dubious consent for a reason, mostly just to be careful because the ending kind of clarifies things, but ya know. You were warned.

There was something different about Thorin in the Mirkwood dungeons, stripped down to a single layer of clothing and trapped behind bars. Left with only the silver beads in his hair to suggest his importance, he seemed strangely vulnerable. The many layers of fur and armor removed during the search had maybe served as armor in more than one way, Bilbo reflected thoughtfully. Without them, Thorin was just a dwarf in a cell, the proud king left behind in the throne room where he’d confronted Thranduil. For all his cursing and snarling, he was certainly less threatening. His eyes, which had once been like sharp daggers pinning their targets where they stood, were softened by an emotion that Bilbo didn’t immediately recognize.

Thorin was afraid. Thorin, who had charged Azog the Defiler as trees burned around him and the Company clung desperately to tree branches. Thorin, whose first response to a strange sight in Mirkwood was to shoot at it. Thorin, who- he could go on, but it didn’t matter. Thorin was afraid, and that fear filled Bilbo with a strange sort of boldness. In only a few hours of imprisonment, Thorin’s walls had fallen away. When else was he likely to see that again?

The dwarves were all penned up in carefully built cells, and he was outside, invisible and free to do whatever he wanted. Thranduil was wrong. The dwarves were not at his mercy, but at Bilbo’s, and at the moment Bilbo was feeling decidedly Tookish. There was nothing he could do to get them out of their cells until the elves got drunk enough to be careless, so where was the harm? Most of the other dwarves were asleep or wrapped up in their own troubles anyway.

On silent feet, Bilbo crept toward Thorin’s cell. He had no idea what he intended to do, but he knew that he wanted to do something. Cross a line he wouldn’t dare infringe upon under different circumstances. But how?

“Is someone there?” Thorin’s sudden question froze Bilbo in place, though the dwarf’s eyes slid past him without seeing. 

He would have to be quieter, Bilbo scolded himself, grateful that Thorin hadn’t shouted the question and sent guards running in. He might be invisible, but he wasn’t incorporeal, and guards running up and down the paths would be harder to avoid. He might well be knocked off, into the water below. Judging by the current, that would likely be the end of his rescue attempt, and probably the end of Bilbo Baggins as well.

Once Thorin frowned and turned his attention back to the inside of his cell, Bilbo crept forward again, slower this time. He didn’t have far to go, but he felt like every errant sound might give him away, so he stopped frequently. If these invisible jaunts were going to be a common occurrence, he would have to do something about the way Sting slapped against his leg. It was probably too quiet a sound for Thorin to hear, but to Bilbo it sounded like a cacophony. 

Standing in front of the door to Thorin’s cell, Bilbo found himself at a bit of a loss. What did he want to do, exactly? If he just wanted to watch this newfound afraid Thorin, he could have done it from across the path without risking alerting anyone. So why had he taken the trouble to come over here? He had no plan, just impulse.

Thorin moved to lean against the cell door with a heavy sigh, and an idea sparked into Bilbo’s mind. He wanted to touch Thorin. A simple thing, really. It was just that the few occasions where they had come into physical contact had all been on Thorin’s terms. Attempting to reciprocate in front of everyone else was still a bit much for his newfound courage. He couldn’t say why it meant so much to him to try and tip the scale in the opposite direction, but now that he had an idea, he intended to follow through.

It didn’t even occur to him as he reach across the minimal distance that it was probably impossible to touch Thorin while he was awake without being noticed. 

He remembered when he lightly tapped Thorin’s arm with a finger and the dwarf was immediately alert, whirling around so quickly that his long hair nearly smacked Bilbo in the face. Bilbo barely had enough time to retract his finger before Thorin slapped his hand down on his arm in search of the culprit.

“It would be just like Thranduil to have fleas in his prison cells,” Thorin muttered, his cheeks flushed as if he was embarrassed by his extreme reaction. He soon went back to leaning against the bars.

Emboldened by how easily Thorin had brushed it off, Bilbo reached forward again. This time his fingers found one of the silver beads dangling from Thorin’s rope-like braids. He traced the pattern slowly, carefully, watching Thorin for any sign of a reaction. But this time there was nothing. Thorin’s eyes were distant, lost in whatever thoughts he’d interrupted. Short of pulling on the braid, Thorin could pass any strangeness off as the sudden winds that gusted through the lower halls of the Woodland Realm.

Then Thorin turned his head unexpectedly, and the bead caught in Bilbo’s fingers. Oh, for-

A hand brushed the tips of his hair as Thorin reached through the bars. They both froze, instinct keeping Bilbo glued to the spot. Slowly, Thorin lowered his hand, running his fingers through Bilbo’s curly hair. His eyes were wide with disbelief as he traced Bilbo’s head, down to his lightly pointed ears.

“Bil- Master Baggins?” Thorin breathed, catching himself at the last second. His voice was even quieter now, and never in Bilbo’s life had it been harder to say nothing, not even making a sound. He could tell Thorin now about how he intended to get them out. It was a viable option. But if he did that, Thorin’s walls would come back up, and he might never see him like this again.

Thorin gave a self-deprecating snort. “The toxins of Mirkwood must still be addling me. This is another dream. Though even in dreams-” He cut himself off again, letting his hand fall away from Bilbo’s head.

Even in dreams, what? What had Thorin wanted to say? This too was something he would never hear under different circumstances, but he couldn’t think of a way to coax it out of him without giving himself away. Then again, if Thorin thought this was a dream, didn’t that mean he could do whatever he wanted?

More confidently this time, Bilbo reached through the bars, tangling his fingers in Thorin’s thick hair. Thorin, apparently satisfied by his own, “this is a dream” explanation, allowed this with a sigh, leaning into the touch. Even when Bilbo ran his fingers though Thorin's hair, working out the strands of spider silk and Mirkwood leaves, Thorin just held onto the bars and let him do it. Was he always so yielding in dreams, content in his own powerlessness enough to let himself be swept away? Or was this just a part of himself that Thorin kept hidden?

Bilbo turned his attention to Thorin’s shoulders and chest, running his hands along thick muscle. He was just checking for injuries he told himself mulishly, but Thorin’s quiet gasp banished that thought entirely. Fine, he was groping Thorin. And discovering that apparently there was a good reason why dwarves wore so many layers. He would have expected Thorin to have thicker skin, but judging by the way his breath caught at the little touches and caresses, he was actually pretty sensitive.

“Mahal,” Thorin breathed, and Bilbo’s hand’s stilled. “Why are the dreams getting worse? Nearly two centuries of life, and now you decide to make me burn?”

‘Burn’ was being poetic, Bilbo realized looking down. He really hadn’t done much, but there was an unmistakable bulge in the front of Thorin’s trousers. But wait.

The dreams were ‘getting worse?’

Heat rushed into Bilbo’s cheeks. Thorin was having dreams about him? Is that what he’d meant before with that ‘even in dreams’ comment? 

“I wonder why I can’t see you this time,” Thorin mused, his eyes dropping to roughly Bilbo’s head height. The look in his eyes was fond, though strangely melancholy. “Perhaps this is Thranduil’s cursed kingdom’s way of saying I won’t see you again.”

Bilbo’s heart was pounding, and he longed to say, ‘of course that’s not true. I’m right here in front of you.’ But if he spoke, the spell would break. That, and he was still caught on ‘this time.’ What else would Thorin let him do under the guise of an ongoing series of erotic dreams?

As if drawn there by an unseen force, Bilbo’s gaze drifted down to the bulge in Thorin’s trousers. Would Thorin let him do something about that?

Not wanting to startle the flustered dwarf, Bilbo slid his hands down slowly, letting his first touch be on the outside of Thorin’s trousers. He ran one hand down the length, savoring the choked sound Thorin made, and that decided him. Having the freedom to do what he wanted, he might as well make this erotic dream the best yet.

Bilbo knelt on the stone floor, lifting Thorin’s undershirt until he found the waistband of his trousers. Hooking his thumbs under the waistband, he took a moment to savor the warmth of Thorin’s skin before tugging the trousers down just far enough. This just left the matter of Thorin’s smallclothes, but in the face of his straining arousal, that was hardly an obstacle. He would still have to hold up the bottom of Thorin’s undershirt, but that too was a small price to pay.

With Thorin’s smallclothes removed, Bilbo hesitated. He had kept his hands entirely outside of Thorin’s clothes until then, and he yearned to run his fingers through the thick, dark hair that covered most of Thorin’s body. Especially the hair that spread down from his navel to the base of his shaft, curly where the rest of his hair was mostly straight. 

Considering that his Tookish instincts had gotten him this far, it seemed silly to just ignore them now. He felt Thorin’s muscles tense as he brushed his fingers against the sensitive skin near his groin, wrapping his fingers in the silky curls, but the dwarf didn’t pull back into his cell. In fact, when Bilbo wrapped his hand around the base of Thorin’s erection, Thorin pressed himself against the bars with a groan, as if desperate to give Bilbo just a little more space to work with. The bars were clearly digging into his body once Bilbo slid it into his mouth. It wasn’t the ideal position, and as he licked and sucked his way down the shaft, Bilbo bumped his head on the bars more than a few times. But Thorin’s heavy breathing and groaning, interspersed with exclamations in Khuzdul, were well worth the trouble.

Soon Thorin’s thick fingers found Bilbo’s hair again, gently caressing the soft curls before burying his fingers in them. The tender gesture made Bilbo feel a pang of guilt for taking advantage of the situation, but no more than a pang. He was getting hard too now, his arousal stirred by Thorin’s ever-hardening length and audible appreciation, and he was going to have to solve that problem alone.

That of course was when the other dwarves took notice.

“I can’t see anything,” Bilbo heard one of them complain. “What’s happening to Thorin?”

“Try to ignore it lad,” Dwalin suggested. “He’s slept poorly lately.”

“That doesn’t sound like a nightmare,” Nori observed.

“Never said he was having them,” Dwalin shot back.

“It’s the poisons of Mirkwood,” Balin insisted tiredly. “They were deep in Thorin’s mind when we were captured, and he’s likely still hallucinating. We should consider ourselves lucky to not be so affected.”

Bilbo imagined how it must look to those of them who could see: Thorin pressed against the bars, fully erect, with his trousers around his knees, with no apparent cause. If they all passed it off as Thorin sleepwalking, well good. Only Dwalin would probably bring it up, and he would do it privately.

Still, best not to linger. Especially not with some of Thorin’s moans including his name.

Bilbo increased his pace, licking and sucking with renewed fervor. Thorin’s sounds of pleasure grew louder and more frenzied in response, and Bilbo knew it wouldn’t be much longer. His own erection throbbed painfully, but he did his best to ignore it. Later, he told himself. Later.

Not much later, though. Thorin’s grip on his hair tightened, and his breathing became increasingly ragged, and that was the only warning he got before the dwarf came in hard spurts. Bilbo swallowed thickly, hoping none of the other dwarves had chosen that moment to look over. Then he righted Thorin’s clothes while the dwarf sagged weakly against the bars. 

His erection throbbed again, demanding his attention, but one obstacle prevented Bilbo’s escape: Thorin hadn’t let go of his hair. Bilbo had forgotten that, and so when he tried to stand and creep away to a quiet corner, pain tore at his scalp and he uttered a quiet gasp. He immediately covered his mouth, but it was too late to muffle the sound. His heart sank, noting the way Thorin’s eyes flew open in alarm.

“I’m hurting you,” he said with visible contrition, his hand loosening immediately.

Bilbo stepped back, but he didn’t run off. It was hard enough to bite back his instinctual, ‘it’s fine, really.’ Did Thorin still think this was a dream? But then, why would he care if he accidentally hurt an invisible dream Bilbo?

“Go,” Thorin said, not unkindly. “It was only a dream, after all.”

So Bilbo went, scurrying down the stairs to the wine cellar to check on the guards, his heart pounding and his cheeks red. But one thought wouldn’t leave him alone as he went, feeling Thorin’s sharp eyes following him somehow: maybe this hadn’t been a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity after all.


End file.
